Before the Song Dies
by StellaPen
Summary: Roger's last few weeks, measured in every way they can be, through the eyes of Mark. A last year on Earth, when it comes down to it, is figured in nothing but love. Sort of MarkRoger. Disclaimer: Characters and original story are Jonathan Larson's.


_Daylights_

It was morning the first time Roger started coughing really hard. Harder than he ever had before, harder than anyone with just a simple cold. Mark watched him, frozen to the ground, afraid of what would happen if he moved or spoke. As the sun rose over New York City, Mark just stared at Roger hacking away sitting by the window. And in that instant, Mark could see that Roger knew. He finally knew he didn't have long. And as the daylight hit his face, the musician closed his eyes and trembled.

_Sunsets_

It was dusk when Roger first began blaming Mark for everything. Not that this hadn't happened before, but now it was different. Now they both knew deep down that Roger was looking for a reason that this should have to happen to him, that his life should be cut short just when he was finally starting to live. They had been sitting out in Central Park, watching the sun go down, and Roger had had one of his coughing fits, which were getting more and more common. When Mark kept repeating it was getting to be time for him to go to the hospital, Roger just glared at him, angry tears in his eyes. "Fuck you, Mark. Why the hell didn't you tell me it was this bad? You're supposed to watch…you're supposed to know…fuck you, fuck you," but he was crying so hard that his words came out as loud mumbles.

_Midnights_

It was one midnight when Mark thought Roger sent him a silent plea for help, for whatever comfort could be given in these dark times. They had both been in bed, an early night for them, and just as Mark was drifting off he felt as arm drape around his shoulder and pull him close. He squinted in the darkness. Roger was definitely asleep. Roger seemed to say more unconsciously than he ever said aloud. Mark wondered if Roger thought he was Mimi and was dreaming about the past before her death, but he decided to push that thought aside for now. He placed his hand over the musician's and gradually fell asleep, wondering what morning would bring.

_Cups of Coffee_

It was over coffee at lunch at the Life Café one day that Roger finally spoke the words, in an angry undertone directed mostly at himself. "Mark, listen…I don't…I don't know how to say this, but I need help. Something's wrong. And I'm too fucking scared to think of what. This is bullshit…it's just…it is. Will you come with me to the hospital?" And of course Mark did.

_Inches_

At the hospital everything was so numerical. Everything was listed, everything was measured. They measured Roger's temperature, they measured his T-cell count for the billionth time, they measured his hair loss, his skin pigmentation, his weight. He had lost nearly an inch from his waist, and Mark saw that his hips now stuck out more prominently and the previously-muscular physique was beginning to diminish. Some of these results came immediately, some would take longer. Neither wanted to know the musician's current T-cell count anyway. So Mark simply sat by Roger's side, holding his hand. One day he kissed it.

_Miles_

Of course, the others came to see him a few times too. The family tree had scattered itself all over the country by now, and everyone who was still alive and kicking drove miles and miles to offer some kind of reassurance to Roger and some kind of comfort to Mark, whom none of them thought should be alone. Collins arrived first, from Santa Fe, saying he was beginning to go through the same process. When he told Roger what had started happening to him, the musician cried. Not angry tears this time, but grieving, regretful tears. "I wish I could be there for you," he said to Collins. "Nahh, man," the ex-professor-turned-restaurant-owner rebuffed, "It is a blessing to be here with you at all." He brought pictures of his new restaurant. Mark gave him a shaky smile, saying, "Angel would have loved it." Maureen and Joanne showed up together, seemingly in a somewhat-stable-relationship at last. They offered smiles and kisses but nervously avoided what was really going on. But Mark was glad they came, and he thought Roger was too. Benny came last. "Benjamin Coffin III", Roger wheezed from his bed. Benny came immediately forward and hugged what parts of Roger he could reach. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry." "Asshole." They smiled at each other. And each time they all left, Mark was there with the aftermath. He would sit on the bed with Roger and hold him, feeling the musician lean into him and wishing it could always be this way.

_Laughter_

"Mark, I'm not going to spend my last days depressed. I'm going to laugh my ass off," Roger said in his now overly-harsh voice, leaning up into Mark's neck and letting vibrations of his laughter wash through his friend. Mark looked down at him, grinning sheepishly. "Alright then." And so it began. The week-or-so of telling each other every funny story they could remember from their own lives and their combined pasts, from drunken mistakes in Roger's only two years of college, to Angel and Evita, to Maureen convincing Roger to wear that all-leather ensemble to a club. The list went on and on. And Mark felt himself cheering, just watching Roger smile in the face of demise. For now, they were happy. For now But Mark knew Roger didn't have long left.

_Strife_

Mark awoke one morning and just knew, without having to talk to a nurse or check Roger's vitals or anything. And when Roger woke up that morning, he knew too. He looked at Mark for a long time, letting that one look convey it all. A nurse came in to check on him and Roger told her that his chest hurt terribly and breathing was harder than ever before. The nurse nodded, but didn't say anything. She knew as well, but there was nothing she could do. They both knew that. Mark moved to sit at Roger's side, where he could more easily look at him. He laid a hand on the musician's face, and whispered through his tears, "I think I'm supposed to give you some kind of inspirational speech here. But I can't. I don't know how. You and I both know all the important things I would have said anyway. Just…I've learned so much from you, Roger. Truths about who I am and who I will become. I've cried a lot too, and we burned some awfully big bridges together, but this past year…it's been the best of my life. And I don't mean I'm glad that Mimi and everyone are gone. I'm just glad that it got to be me and you, just us for awhile. That I got to see you, and you, you really saw me. Like no one else. I could put down that damn camera and open up to you finally. I'm not going to forget that." Mark kissed Roger's brow, his cheek, and softly, his lips. The musician gently smiled and his eyes slipped closed.


End file.
